


stan being sad by himself for 800 words

by whatisUPgaymers



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Gen, Light Angst, Trans Ford Pines, Trans Male Character, Trans Stan Pines, angstier than my usual stuff but i don't read enough angst to tell how much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 05:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatisUPgaymers/pseuds/whatisUPgaymers
Summary: yeah that's pretty much it





	stan being sad by himself for 800 words

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for blood and mentions of transphobic violence

Stan gave the glasses a good long look before slipping them on. He turned to face the mirror and inhaled sharply. It didn’t help his vision as much as he expected, but he was used to that. He still saw well enough to realize truly how much glasses could change one’s appearance. Many of his prior identities relied on that, sure, but it never hit him so  _ hard _ before.

Putting on a mocking tone, he planted his hands on his hips. “Oh, look at me, I’m Stanford, I have money and a stable living situation that let me start safely transitioning as soon as I decided I was ready, I don’t have to shove newspaper down my pants, I didn’t get my tits chopped off by some back-alley doctor, I didn’t have to use  _ cigars _ to make my voice deeper so if I slipped up and talked a lil too high pitched  _ even more people wouldn’t want me dead. _ ”

He couldn’t quite tell whether the feeling in his eyes was just from Ford having a different prescription than Stan needed or not. “... Nope, no, I gotta get  _ completely _ different glasses.”

Carefully setting them down, he made his way to the bathroom. “C’mon, Six, tell me you had a razor laying around here somewhere…” His eyes trailed down to one sitting by his feet, covered in deep red stains along with the floor around it. “Ohhh, I shoulda taken a closer look in here sooner.”

He picked it up with a wince and, eyes screwed shut, put the blades beneath running hot water. “C’mon, c’mon, please wash off, please wash off…” One eye opening a crack, he saw the stains weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Oh, god, okay, I guess I’m doing this.” Breath held, he turned the razor on and steadied himself. The more defining features of a mullet slipped away, leaving his head feeling lighter. He ran his fingers over the back of his head, noting how uneven and scratchy it felt.

Brushing some hair off his shoulders, he finally stopped to look at his reflection again. He was still left looking greasy and pathetic, but the resemblance once again landed on his chest like a wheelbarrow of cement. “Wow,  _ Stanley, _ you’re looking less depressed already! Too bad you fucked your hair up because you’re too chickenshit to look your mistakes dead in the eye!” Groaning, he held a hand against his forehead. “Why do I keep doing that? He never even talked like that.”

A hinge on the side of the mirror caught his attention, and he carefully opened the cabinet behind it. Sure enough, his hand found his way to a box full of familiar little vials. He turned the box over in his hands, then one of the bottles of testosterone, scanning over the labels. “... Does this go bad? I don’t think I wanna find out if this stuff goes bad. Sure Ford wouldn’t either.” Gently returning everything to its place, he closed the medicine cabinet and stared himself down. “No, no, he- he’ll be back before that happens. I swear.”

He made his way back to Ford’s bedroom and paused by the dresser. There was… a  _ lot _ more clean clothes in there than he expected. Careful not to so much as indent the adjacent garments, he tried to pick out what appeared to both fall under clothes that could fit around his gut  _ and _ appropriate attire for mourning. Stan wished he had any clue how much of how skinny Ford seemed when he last saw him was just recent weight loss from whatever had him so stressed out, but he knew the answer would probably make his head spin. He held a suit jacket up in front of him, shaking a bit at the reflection that looked less and less like  _ Stan _ every time he looked at it tonight, and more like-

Trying to keep himself from dwelling on it too long, he turned away from the mirror to go sit on the couch. Running his fingers through his bangs, he focused on taking steady breaths. “It’s… it’s just for a few days. A few days, then I never have to go through Ford’s stuff again. It’ll be fine.”

His shoulders sank, as did the reality of the situation. “No big deal, just… going to my own funeral. Pretending I’m my brother.  _ Wearing his clothes. _ While he’s stuck in who-knows-where.” Elbows propped on his knees, he held his head in his hands. “ _ He _ could be the dead one for all I know.” With the most half-hearted laugh he could muster, he leaned to address the mirror across the room. “What kinda life is  _ this _ though, amiright? I’m talking to my own reflection over here. And even  _ he _ hates me!”

When his eyes fell to the floor, they landed on the jacket in his hands. “... And I’m gonna have to wear a girdle like some kinda old woman if I even hope to pull off the ‘wearing his clothes’ part.  _ Wonderful. _ ”


End file.
